The Misc Excerpts from the Diary of a Deepground Soldier
by Lyumia
Summary: Self explanatory title. Warnings for a corny joke in the AN.


**A.N: I swear I feel like when I upload a Doc to FF net, the word count changes without me touching anything. Anyways, I don't own anything cause I'm so broke I can't even afford to pay attention. *Cue slow realization and cringe.*  
**

* * *

I've lost track of the days, you have to hunt down the newer ones if you wanna know, and even then most of them can't remember. One of those things where the first dip is what fucks you up the most, the unbearable heat of other bodies before they dunk you in the green sludge. It burns your skin- not just your skin, and the pool is so deep and the drop so high on the frantic swim up you always breathe some in. It gets into your lungs, drowns you without killing you. Lingers in your throat and tears at your mind.

It's the bodies you remember after. A sea of limbs they make you wade through, push back the stiff limbs of the person you were just next to in the damn box they put you in.

The ones who don't get out fast enough get flushed- shoved into the reactor machinery in a whirlpool. The blood just kind of meshes into the green until it burns away. I've given up trying to get back to my family. They're so far away, even if I ran till the skin of my feet were bloody and raw, they'd find me. No matter how far I would run.

I'm either going to die from the exposure here or be killed. I'm not sure how I feel about those options.

* * *

Saw a man die today. I've seen the bodies, they're everywhere. As common as dust on a shelf, everyone just steps over. Another prisoner just stood and bashed another inmate's face in with a salt shaker, just kept hitting him and hitting him until his his head was nothing but a pile of red mush.

I could be killed just as easily as that, and no one would notice. My wife would never know.

That isn't even what scares me the most.

What keeps me awake at night is coming true. I'm starting to hear my name being called, when nobody is around. I see shadows move when they didn't before. There's a constant buzzing in my ears I can't seem to get rid of, and my fingers twitch with the urge to reach in there and just rip out what isn't there.

I have to stay calm.

I have to make sure the officers know nothing is wrong.

It's not just for the sake of staying alive, but for my sanity too.

* * *

There's a man I met today, nice he's so kind and assuring, so unlike the other robotic and downright creepy inmates who mill about the hallways in bumbling lines. He says that it'll all be over soon.

What, I'm not sure.

Then again, I'm not sure about anything these days.

* * *

I saw the man again today. He was talking to a stranger dressed in all black. I got the feeling I was unwanted there, and I haven't seen or heard about him since.

* * *

It's them, the big money bag corporation. Because of them, I've forgotten what it's like, to sit in the grass and stare up at the sky. I can no longer recall the specific hue, only the muted green and grey steel of our prison. My fellow soldiers and I learned something today.

We were a pet project of some big name scientist, apparently they created some super humans thirty years ago and we have the lucky privilege of being human experiments.

The professor was the most disgusting human being I've ever had the displeasure of meeting.

Something big is about to happen. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I'm not sure about how to feel about anything. Tsviets popped up and just started directing things, saying vague bullshit. I'm so exhausted all the time, Rosso will probably just kill me for sport, saying I'm keeping the others from getting out.

That chick has issues. But then again, we all do.

* * *

This Weiss guy seems amused by my existence. He oversees my experiments, I swear he can see how after each time under I feel more like a stranger in my own skin. He's a cat sitting before a mousehole, spread out contentedly because he knows his prey will leave the safety of their hole and into his awaiting claws. He's a god playing with the devil, dancing around restrictors and teasing out what he wants in his soldiers.

He'll stop playing with me soon. He'll either kill me himself or get someone else to do it.

* * *

Today is the day I'm going to die. I know this because I'm writing in a room with a man cloaked in red sitting in the far corner. He had a gun, so I know it will be quick. When we were freed from the reactor, so much time had passed, my wife had died, and I still look the same.

Hopefully this man will kill me quickly.

My life is not a story worth living.


End file.
